I've been advised by other commanders to keep a record of my part in the distant worlds 2 expedition. Along with the local logs on board, I'll transmit my findings to GALNET when near a station. They'll hire some courier to run the data back to the bubble. It's a bit ironic. The fastest mail in the 'verse is once again the pony express.
I decided to skip the view and Thor's eye. Instead I charted a course straight to the moth nebula. I encountered a few anomalies on the way there. I'll spare describing the details. Pictures are worth a thousand words, and the galaxy has billions of stars.
Twelve ratsignals squawked over the box while I rested on the snowball's surface. The closest was 75 jumps away. Other rats were closer. I watched the rescue updates on the holo-pad as I warmed up the ship. People awe at how the rats arrive quickly, but the real trick is in the box. Even the federation's coms suffer from light-lag. There was probably some quantum entanglement magic in there, but that only raised questions as to how a credit-starved altruistic, anarchic, assortment of rats got their paws on some q-tech.
Still, they've saved thousands of pilots, I've saved hundreds, so maybe that's a question better left ŭ̸̞n̴̊͜a̴͖͘n̶͇͑ş̶͘ẘ̴͎e̶͖̾r̷̥̚ë̷̮d̴͕̅.
When I flicked on the bridge, I realized I was in for a night takeoff. The new sensors provided a nightvision overlay for about 2 kilos or so. Handy, even if it did make the view look like something out of a holo-flick. An entertaining start to this jaunt from the moth nebula to the mining outpost. 30 jumps.
Bumped into five water worlds along the way. One stood out--a blue marble with a ring-- I gave that one a closer look and mapped it. I've got my first ringed terraformable in the Universal Cartographic charts.
It wasn't all peachy. I've noticed the small capacitor takes a while to reboot the shields. I have to flick on the generator ten jumps early if I want them up by the time I need to dock. The shields take their sweet time to activate.
But the shields came up in time to dock. Luckily, they activated quickly enough to deflect a sidewinder that thought I'd be a good idea to shoot the gap between the port nacelle and the walls of the mail slot. That pilot has a lot of confidence for flying around in a small pizza box.
Now begins the hard work of refitting Talla for mining. The refit will take a while. Don't expect anything from me for a few cycles. I'll be refitting the ship.
Or in the bar keeping the space madness at bay with some h̶̬̎a̷̹̍r̶͍̃m̴̭̕l̶̲̽e̷̤̾ś̸͖s̶̈́ chat and a drink.
The metallic rocks are messing with my t̸̘̚r̷̺͂ă̶̢n̴̻̊s̷̰̐m̶͓̑ì̴̦s̶̼͒ś̸̱i̶͔͝o̶̒ͅn̸͍̚s. I've tried insulating the data banks with more localized mag-shields, but some interference s̵͔͠ť̵̨ĩ̴͉ḽ̵͘l̵̍͜ ̷̥̎g̸̠̏ẻ̸̤t̷̝͗ŝ̶̤ through. I hope uploading them doesn't corrupt the public terminals, but I don't have many options if I want these things read back at Fuelum within a few cycles.
While Talla is getting r̷̲̃e̵̦̍f̷̣́i̷͚͆t̷̥͠, I heard of the reports from the view. Thirty-something commanders turned their ships into scrap after forgetting to read the g-meter at the view. Undersized D-rated thrusters can't retrothrust 3g. High-G is a lesson best learnt early. Last distant world's expedition, Drake's Ridge claimed a dozen or so commanders with only 1.5g. That foggy crater gave a new meaning to "l̴̮̑ŏ̶͖w̴͈̕ ̷̖͒v̸̢̔i̸̜͐s̵̠̊b̵̜͝i̶̤̋l̶̖̕i̴̞͛t̴̤̃ÿ̷̪". Needless to say, the view wasn't as nice. As long as they ejected in time, the plucky newbies will be out here if they didn't turn their insides to slime.
The misfortune at the view is keeping my mind off my own. I'm w̸̥͘á̶̹t̷̠̾c̷̪̆h̴͍̐ĩ̸͈ṋ̵͌g̵͖̽ the price of void opals free-fall as more commanders make port with rich hauls worth more than their tonnage in onionhead. Talla is going to be doing bulk mining once the foreman announces the station construction. After the refit is complete, I reckon I'll have half a cycle to fill my hold with opals before contributing to the bigger picture. I hope the commanders haven't mined out the entire frackin' ring. I need some work to take my mind off it. Who would have thought that FTL can still be too slow.
I'll buff out the dents on the port nacelle. It may just get the pizza stains off.
Polishing the hull off was premature. Six light-kilos has made me rusty at the stick, and the D-engines on Talla aren't exactly threading any needles. Warming up in some m̶̛̙ă̵̭̄̕n̵̮͗ę̴̋̌u̶̞̠̔̈́͆v̷̮̫͗͂͘e̴̟̦̩̋̄ṟ̸͓͎̏ş̷̘͛ ̴̝͎͕̎̑͠o̶̗̜̮̿̐̃ŭ̸̻͊̒t̷̙̳̺̂̈́s̸̤̚í̶̡̝́̚d̷͉͍̅̌̕ͅè̴͖̻̗̅ the station with CMDR FIKED didn't quite get the lead out, and I've been bouncing off rocks despite my best efforts.
But the mining has been a blast. The pirate radio ship arrived, and Distant Radio is cranked to full blast t̸̛̰̒͝h̴̟͚̑̓ͅṛ̴͖̒o̴̹͌̀u̷͍̘̒g̸̨̛̩ͅh̴̰̓ ̸̼̫̽̄t̶̼̙̤̓̄͠h̷̩̦̀͝e̴̮̪͑ belts.
The distant world commanders haven't only been blasting music. The rumble of seismic charges and the thunderous split of a ring-rock has been ṃ̷̧̓̕ü̷͕̬͊s̴͂̐ͅi̶̛͕c̸̘͇͆̅ to my ears.
A shout-out to CMDR TK-42 1994. While the quick retrofit made Talla scoop up the bulk materials like an over-sized cleaner-bot, I couldn't have extracted so much in so little time without his help. The DW1 badge of honor shines on that anaconda. The classic black paint was common on the first expedition. I guess if it ain't broke, don't ̷f̵i̷x̸ ̷i̴t̵.̵ ̷
If you need a bulk-mining cutter in your wing, send me a line. I'll monitor this channel for communications.
I tried sleeping while docked in the omega outpost. Big mistake. It's hard to sleep with t̸͉͔̟̍̏h̶͉̺̦̚ë̴͎̯̅̿ nonstop knocking, screeching, and hammering of the construction in the docking bay. That's before the thundering rumble from the massive freighters all but throw me out of bed. I put the ship into an orbit clear of the rings in order to g̴̨̗̓̕ė̶̥̫̓̓t̵̲͎͍͊̒ some sleep. At least space is silent, and the bunks aboard Talla don't feel like resting on a cold block of aluminium, but I still get some nightmares.
I woke up an imperial cycle later to the call on the comm-panel. Twenty or so commanders were already mining. I joined in.
Turns out, It's hard to fit a cutter alongside a Krait, Type 9, Corvette, and Anaconda. Once I got the trick of it, the rock t̶̨̬̤̉ǫ̸͔̣̾̈́̇n̶̲̝͆̑̈́ń̵̙̖̚ḁ̸̈͜ĝ̶͎̙̌͛ẻ̸̘̰͕̎̚ rolled in. Too bad Omega requested the ore pre-refined, otherwise we could have just set up a tug and brought the whole 'roid back.
The wing was the largest I'd seen in some time, and other commanders made sure to document the event. I've included their files in the attachment--A commander-made rainbow in the dark, formed with the shining raindrops of busy limpets. I snapped some shots too.
Not that often you run into something s̷͚͐̅̈́ė̴̛͙̠̅ͅn̸̪͑̂t̴̝͂̄i̶͙̘͒͌̓ē̶͚̲̃ǹ̴͍̘͜t̴̎ͅ, after all.
EAGLE'S LANDING DEEPSPACE RECEIVER
TRANSMISSION DETECTED
TUNING FREQUENCY
******INCOMING TRANSMISSION*******
Once the warp coils cooled it was time to launch to the next destination. Omega has enough to build the station. It was an impressive haul.
The mood was jovial around the camp-geyser on 7B. A handful of commanders gathered for launch. I took the fighter out for a few aerobatic canyon chases. Telepresence made pancaking into the canyon wall survivable. Once I cut it as a fighter pilot, but not anymore. The stunt took my mind off the journey ahead for a moment.
Vantas showed for the launch. That commander has seen sights no living commander will see again. Maybe he's already gone mad with space madness, then again, maybe he's the star lost explorers orbit around not to be flung into the void. In any case, it hasn't helped. I still haven't been sleeping.
The gathering left me restless. I plotted a course to the Arkgamanon mountians. The fourth warp-coil has started to make a strange shifting noise after the last neutron jump. I'll boot the AMFU and run diagnostics.
I put Talla down on the surface and tipped the first commander to forward this message to Eagle's landing.
I feel uneasy sleeping in the shadow of an ancient king.
CMDR KESTRIL
>MSG END
>FILE(S) ATTACHED
>OPEN FILE(S) y/n?
>y
>OPENING. .
EAGLE'S LANDING DEEPSPACE RECEIVER
TRANSMISSION DETECTED
TUNING FREQUENCY
******INCOMING TRANSMISSION*******
I don't know what I drank last cycle that made me feel so dam poetic. But starrise hit about four hours before I expected. Turns out, this little dustball turns pretty fast.
I'm not making any special effort to fly off the beaten path, but some finds still fell into my lap. A new gas giant and water world were cataloged and mapped. The terminals here at Eagle's landing threaten to overheat with the amount of data commanders are dumping into the datalink. Still, these lonesome folk are glad for the company, even if a trip back to the bubble only takes a day. Einstein was right. We're still not going any faster, just making the galaxy smaller. I offered to check if Talla had some spare micro-weave cooling hoses they could use. Cedrik Roman, the guy in charge, took me up on the offer.
The Colonian noticed the image up-link was damaged by a debris strike. That's what I get for powering down the shields during supercruise. After I hauled the the hoses into the landing shelters, I tweaked the entire data link. It's easy to overlook the details in this ship. Cedrik said it was too large for a single commander, but Talla is a friend, well, a memory of one.
But I'm getting ahead of myself, first. This half-leg of the journey was on the small things. I followed the fleet's waypoints to find a yellow lagrange cloud and a small planetary nebula not 30 jumps out from Eagle's Landing. Either way, if they are small, they make Talla look like a little bacteria or something. Space is relative. Eisenstein was right.
I brought that idea up to Cedrik over the comms while hauling cooling hoses. He agreed. I asked him what they called the gas giant their little outpost orbited around.
